


Jean of Arc

by mirlotta, seijohsie



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Erratic Updates, F/F, F/M, Fluff, High School AU, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-04 23:29:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5352422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirlotta/pseuds/mirlotta, https://archiveofourown.org/users/seijohsie/pseuds/seijohsie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean/Armin High School AU. Lots of fluff, a little bit of angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean and Marco are young and cute together.

prologue

♥

Jean had not been having a very good day. A) Because it was raining like God was pissing from the sky, B) Because the gel in his hair was reacting so badly to the wet that it looked like he was attempting to grow an assortment of mouldy-looking plants on his head, and C) Because the douchiest kid in school, Eren Jaeger, had been picked for the basketball team instead of Jean. Again.

But somehow, Marco always managed to turn Jean's crap days into good, tell-your-grandkids-about-it-one-day days.

That was why they were friends.

They sat side by side on their local park's creaky old swing set. For going on four years now they'd come out here after school like a ritual. It wasn't that the park was particularly awesome or anything - it wasn't much more than the swings and a rickety-looking slide that Marco swore was a death trap - but it was quiet and it was out of the way and that was enough. It was where they'd first met.

"We're too old for this," grumbled Jean, fiddling with his hair. It had plastered itself to his forehead and he couldn't help but worry that he looked like one of those orphan alpacas he'd seen in the zoo. "This park's for six year olds."

Marco smiled. "Sometimes you act like you're six."

"If I do, it's generally Jaeger’s fault." Jean groaned as a piece of his hair fell in front of his eyes. He pushed it aside, glowering.

"What?"

"My hair. Is it making me look like a total asshole, or not?"

"That's if you don't look like a total asshole already..." Marco teased, laughing. Marco had a really nice laugh, thought Jean. Kind of like everything good in the world had concentrated itself into that one sound.

"Assholes aside, I feel like a godamned alpaca."

Marco shook his head, eyes seeming to shine. Or maybe it was just the rain. "Nah. It looks fine. If anything, you vaguely resemble a horse."

"Great," said Jean sarcastically. "I look like a horse."

"A cute horse."

"Thanks."

Marco bit his lip. "Here," he said, leaning across. With deft, precise fingers he ruffled Jean's hair, making him look slightly less like an equestrian than before.

"Thanks," said Jean, more softly this time.

"No... Uh, no problem." Marco cleared his throat. Loudly. His cheeks were tinged a delicate shade of pink that only made his freckles more prominent. "Hey, um, I'm sorry that you didn't make the basketball team."

Jean shrugged then scowled, trying to keep his own cheeks from going red. "Whatever. The school will be the ones who're sorry when Jaeger screws up in the middle of a match."

The topic of conversation was one that Jean usually enjoyed: complaining about Jaeger. And yet, today all that Jean wanted to think about was the gorgeous dark chocolate of Marco's eyes, or the way that they were sitting so close together, Jean could count the freckles on Marco's face.

It was enough to make his insides turn cartwheels and start melting into a fuzzy ball of goo.

It was enough to make Jean wonder whether Marco felt the same way.

"Hey... Marco?"

"Uh-huh?"

Jean opened his mouth, then closed it. This was way too embarrassing. Most teenage boys did not want spontaneous confessions of maybe-love from their best friend. Their male best friend. Marco was probably no exception to this rule. Jean gritted his teeth and began to swing, pumping his legs to get higher and higher, taking his frustration out on the air in front of him.

Despite the furious, slightly constipated looking expression gracing Jean's face, Marco grinned. "I bet I can swing higher than you, you know."

Jean looked down at the still static Marco. "As if."

"Is that a challenge?"

Jean smirked. "You're a coward if you don't take it as one."

"Point taken." Marco kicked off from the ground, propelling himself forwards and into the air. Within a few seconds, the two were in time with each other, each unable to get any higher.

Marco looked across at Jean. "Since we're both obviously great at using a swing and this is going to go on forever otherwise, can we just say that it's a draw?"

With anyone else, Jean might have argued back. He might have told them that if they didn't want to continue then they were useless and scared, that he was the only real winner and they knew it. The thing was, Jean didn't want to fight Marco; Jean wanted to fight alongside Marco. He realised, there on the swings, that he never wanted to have to leave the taller boy's side again.

"Fine. It's a draw," agreed Jean, allowing himself a smile. He looked sidelong at Marco. "You want to jump?"

"From this height?"

The ground seemed a long way away, but it couldn't have been more than a couple of feet. "Why not?"

"Okay," said Marco, shifting forwards to the edge of the swing's seat. "But if I break my ribs then I'm taking you to court."

Jean counted to three, slowly. It was another second before they jumped from the swings, landing in a heap on the sodden grass.

"Gross... I didn't think about how wet the grass was going to be. I'm going to have grass stains all over my uniform now." Though Jean pulled a face, he didn't bother moving. Marco made a slightly strangled grunting noise in reply. Jean looked at him strangely. "What's up? You didn't hurt yourself, did you?"

The way Jean's heart sped up at the idea of Marco hurting himself happened so much that it was hardly worth noting.

"No... Um..." Marco's face was roughly the colour of a cooked tomato. "Jean, your, uh, hand is on my... Uh..."

Jean looked down. When they'd landed, his hand had somehow found its way to rest on Marco's ass. He snatched it away, mortified. "Man, I'm so sorry! I didn't even notice, it just... Look, I swear I didn't mean too, seriously, I-"

"Don't sweat it," said Marco, who looked more flustered than if twenty blood thirsty aliens had popped up out of nowhere and all demanded that they stay the night at Marco's house if he didn't want them to blow up the earth.

It was more than a little bit adorable.

Jean blew out the air in his cheeks, cursing himself. "Well, I guess I just made everything awkward."

"No..." Marco shook his head vehemently. "It's just... I kind of... Look, Jean, I really like you-"

"But you don't see me as more than a friend? I told you, it was an accident, Marco. It was just the way I landed."

Marco was a shade of crimson more vibrant than the most beautiful of sunsets. "No! The... The opposite, actually." Marco looked down, almost shyly. "I kind of...really like you, Jean. Like, really like you."

Jean grinned, like the sun and the moon and the stars were all exploding from his mouth to make a beautiful, perfect expression. He leaned into Marco, quietly taking the other boy's hand in his. "You know, Marco? I kind of really like you too."


	2. Chapter One - One Year Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Friend' is a nicer nickname than 'bowl-cut boy', I guess.

chapter one

♥

 

In any typical secondary school, students are divided into various sections and groups, each one standing separate to the rest. There are the nerds, the cool kids, the sporty kids, you know. Everybody's got some sort of extra label, invisible to older folk and those they pass on the street, but blindingly obvious to their peers.

For example, tall, over-confident and reasonably attractive sixth form student, Jean Kirschtein, was definitely up there in the 'cool' category. He had a medium-sized, tight-knit, hard-to-get group of friends, and he had grades that were good enough, but nothing special. A few girls liked him; he was a halfway-decent basketball player. He cruised.

Or so he had thought, until his report had come through for the spring term: his grades had dropped by at least one level in every subject, and various teachers had expressed their disappointment in his work ethic. Which, whilst not being as worrying as it possibly should have been for him, was extremely upsetting for his mother. Mrs Kirschtein was, perhaps, a little over-protective at times, but when it came to school, she managed to leave Jean to it. Hearing that he'd wasted so many opportunities was not exactly pleasing, only resulting in kicking her motherly nature into overdrive.

And so, here Jean stood, cautiously checking the corridor up and down to make sure that not a soul had seen him, before quietly easing open the door to the school library.

This is ridiculous, he thought to himself, as he stared awkwardly around at the long shelves neatly filled with books on either side. So what if my grades dropped? I can easily pull 'em back.

After the report debacle, Jean's teachers had pretty much forced him into attending a weekly revision class that would, apparently, improve his learning. He would have scoffed right in their faces, if it wasn't for the fact that his mum was also threatening to take away all his video games if he didn't go. Which totally sucked.

Thanks to that, Jean had been pushed to venture towards the very edges of the social circles, into the void of books and nerdiness that was the library, in order to collect some book for the history assignment he needed to re-do.Well, at least it wasn't maths.

Cursing internally at his dire misfortune, he shuffled over to the History shelf, desperately trying to blend in with the frequent library-goers who were dotted all around, eyes glazed over as they roamed over the pages. He didn't understand what was so damn brilliant about a book - like, it's just some ink on a page, right? Who cares about the 'hidden meanings' behind it all?

Dismissing the thought, he scanned his eyes over the bound spines. As far as he could remember, the assignment was about Joan of Arc...or something. Whatever. He'd just get something out to stop his mum from pestering him.

A few strides further, and his gaze came to rest on a golden-coloured book entitled, 'Joan of Arc - A Story'. It seemed pretty promising, and when he removed it from the shelf, the cover almost looked like that of a novel.

Well, it looks ever so slightly less boring that the rest of the books here, he mused, and with that, began to sneak his way over to the library desk.

"Oh, um, excuse me?" a small voice asked from behind him. Jean froze, slowly turning round.

Please don't let them recognise me; please, God, please.

A blonde-haired kid was standing in front of him, a pleading expression on his face. He only reached up to about Jean's shoulders.

"Huh?" Jean grunted, hoping desperately to avoid a conversation at all costs. He needed to get out of the damn library, before somebody spotted him. Still, the guy before him looked like he wanted something, and his eyes were pretty much identical to that of a small puppy begging for scraps.

"Is that the, uh, golden edition of, 'Joan of Arc - A Story'?" the boy asked, round cheeks flushing a light pink. Jean's heart sank. The what of what? Eh? What was this kid on about? And anyway - Jean could've sworn he'd seen him around somewhere.

"Um..." said Jean, sounding as scholarly as he could muster. When in nerd-land, you must do as the nerds do. Or something. "Erm... I think so." He turned the book on its side, looking down the spine. "Yeah... erm... look, it says so here! 'Joan of Arc - A Story'. Uh... 'Golden Edition'."

The boy blinked. "Great. It's my favourite book. Have you read it before?"

Jean rolled his eyes. "Uh, as if. I'm not getting the book to enjoy it. I'm being forced to read this for a History assignment thing." Why was this dweeb even talking to him, again?

"Oh," said the boy. He ran his hand through his hair, succeeding in making his bowl cut look even more hopelessly unfashionable. Jean hadn't realised that such a thing was even possible. "Well, uh, if you don't think you're going to read it... That golden edition has special bonus features and it's the only one that I haven't read..."

"Wait," asked Jean, trying to get his head around what the boy was trying to say. "Are you telling me that you're going to read the book for me and then tell me all the content before my test?" Jean really hoped that was what the guy was saying - the volume was at least four-hundred pages. That was three-hundred and ninety-nine more than Jean liked to read in a month.

The boy frowned at Jean. "Um, no. I was actually wondering if you'd let me read it first. I'll be able to finish it in a night."

Yeah, though Jean, probably because you don't have a life outside of books.

"No way," said Jean. "My test's three days away."

"Oh, come on! Please!" asked the boy. "You won't even have to ask me to say thank you. In fact, I could say thank you in advance! See: thank you!"

"If you say thank you one more time, I'll punch you," growled Jean pushing his way past the boy. The boy grabbed onto his arm, only clinging on harder as Jean tried to shake him off. A goddamn koala with a bowl cut. "Look!" said Jean, shaking the boy off. "I get that you want this book way more than I do, but-"

"What?" asked the boy as Jean cut off. He'd obviously been anticipating a rant, and Jean would have been perfectly happy to oblige had he not just spotted the very person he least wanted to see right now heading into the library.

Eren stupid-shit-face Jeager.

"Goddamnit..." hissed Jean in the direction of the floor, curling up his fists. "Here," he garbled, shoving the book into the boy's hands. "You take the book. Whatever. I'll just fail the exam I need it for."

The boy looked at him in surprise. "Uh... Fine, I guess..." He paused, frowning at Jean in concern as he tried to blend in with his surroundings. "Hey, what's the matter? Why are you trying to climb inside a bookshelf? Are you okay?"

Jean rolled his eyes. "Do I freaking look okay?" he growled.

"Um... I'm going to go with no?"

"Ding ding ding, you've hit the jack pot. Now... Can you just, you know, get away from me as soon as possible?" Jean glanced hurriedly over to the door, which Eren was currently about to swagger through, accompanied by his girlfriend-stroke-sister-stroke-mother figure, Mikasa Ackerman. There was no way either of them could see Jean with anyone as weird as this book-loving nerd in front of him, who sported a bowl-cut like other guys might show off a Ferrari.

"Yo! Jean-Bo!" yelled a voice from the doorway. It was arrogant, dicky, and overly annoying, so it didn't take much skill to work out that it was Jaeger's.

"He shouldn't be shouting. This is a library," murmured the Bowl-Cut Boy with far too much shock for Jean to write him off as being sarcastic.

"Get away from me," answered Jean, snappily.

"Jean-Bo! Hey! Horse face!" Eren stopped shouting and strode over to where Jean was standing.

"Learn some new insults, Jeager," spat Jean.

Eren laughed. "Speak for yourself." He looked at Bowl-Cut Boy as if seeing him there for the first time. Then, to Jean's surprise, Eren flung an arm over the guy's shoulder, who squirmed uncomfortably. "What are you doing talking to Jean-Bo, Armin?"

The Bowl-Cut Boy - Armin, Jean corrected himself - smiled at Jean. "Your name's Jean? Like, it's French?"

Jean shifted from foot to foot, staring at the floor. "Um... Yeah." Could he leave now? He hated this. Jean made to move past the human barrier Eren and Mikasa had formed, but just as he walked past them Eren barged into his shoulder. Stumbling, Jean struggled to regain his balance, tripping across the room towards the library door.

He forgot to stoop as he walked through it - seriously, that door had been made for no one much taller than 4 ft - and Jean banged his head on the door frame. He cursed, softly, under his breath. Then once, louder. He could still hear the sound of Eren laughing behind him, so he staggered to sit by the water fountain, out of sight of the library.

Footsteps, and then the sound of someone decidedly unwanted sitting down beside him.

Jean looked to his left to see Armin, pink cheeked and biting his lip, leaning against the wall. He folded his arms across his chest, instantly hostile."Whaddaya want?"

"I..." Armin looked down at his shoes. They were sensible, leather, and looked like something Jean's grandfather might wear. "I'm sorry that Eren pushed you. And you hit your head. That wasn't... He was being a jerk."

Jean clicked his tongue. "You only just getting that?" He shook his head. "Whatever. Um... Thanks. But you don't need to apologise, you know."

"Uh... Yeah, I- I know, but..." Armin shrugged, flashing Jean a small smile. For some reason, it almost reminded him of the time when Marco had... Jean stopped himself before he followed that train of thought. Thinking about Marco had long proven to be a painful, hazardous fall into a pit with no clear bottom.

"Anyway," Armin was saying, "I just checked this out, but I want you to have it. For your revision." Armin pulled a book with a shiny golden cover from his back, coated in the slightly grimy clear plastic all school library books had to be. "Joan of Arc: A story. It's the golden edition."

"Um..." Jean didn't know what to say, partly because he wasn't well versed in saying thank you, and partly because a revision guide on goddamn Joan of Arc was the worst well-meant present he had ever received. But still. Still. The fact that Armin had given him a gift at all was more than Jean would ever have expected of any friend of Eren's.

"How come you're friends with someone like Jaeger," he asked Armin, eventually.

The smaller boy smiled a little. "He probably seems like a total dick to you."

"Uh, yeah."

"Well... He's not like that to everyone. Eren's a good friend, and loyal, and he fights for what he believes in."

Jean snorted. "What, being an asshole to people?"

"No..."

Jean nudged Armin with his shoulder. "Don't look so disappointed in me. You're not my mother. I was making a joke."

"Oh! Sorry. You just seem so... Angry."

"Wow, thanks." Rolling his eyes, Jean got to his feet, slotting his new library book into his school bag. "Well, thanks for the book, Bowl-Cu-" He stopped himself before he got the name out, but Armin still heard.

"What was that?" he asked curiously, peering up at jean. "You were going to call me something."

Jean grinned sheepishly, hoping the guy wouldn't take this personally. "Um... Look, I didn't mean it in a bad way, it just slipped out... but... I was going to call you Bowl-Cut Boy." He scratched at the back of his neck in embarrassment.

Armin fell silent, staring at him.

"Come on, say something." Jean shifted awkwardly, then reached out to offer Armin a hand up. "It was just a stupid nickname."

Pausing, Armin considered before letting Jean pull him to his feet. He raised his eyebrows. "It was a terrible nickname."

"What?" Jean laughed a little nervously. "Uh, yeah, but you're not mad, right?"

Armin shook his head. "No. But, I've got a better nickname."

"Uh-huh?"

"Friend."

"Friend?" asked Jean, almost incredulously. "You want to be friends with me?"

"Why not?" Armin smiled. "Your people skills are so bad, you probably need more."

Jean laughed. He hadn't laughed in a while, and the sound came out wrong, harsh when it should have been light and airy. And yet, talking to Armin... Even though his laugh was rusty and his heart hadn't opened to friendship in so long, talking to Armin made Jean feel more right than he had in months.

He bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling as he turned away, slinging his rucksack over his shoulder. "Friends? I'll think about it."

A pause, and then Armin spoke in one fast, exhilarated rush. "I... I didn't realise you even knew how to think." He laughed, to make it extra clear that he was joking. He obviously wasn't in the habit of teasing people.

Jean raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Well," he answered, "whaddaya know? Being mean suits you even less than bowl cuts." He sighed, smirking. "Fine. Friends. Friends. Let's be friends."

Jean breathed out, tilting his head to look at the white washed school ceiling. Friends, Jean thought, repeating the word to himself as he walked away. Hell, I need some, but I never expected a new friend to come in the shape of a bowl-cut sporting dork.

Marco had always said that the best things were the unexpected.


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean goes to his first revision session and admires Armin's ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first update in... what, three months? Oops. We'll try and be better updaters in the future, probably. Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter!

  
chapter two

♥

As always - or so it seemed - Jean was in the kind of crappy mood that made Lord Sugar look like a cheerful guy. The buzz of the cafeteria was feeding his headache and he'd been standing in the queue for what must have been at least a century. Still, at least his friends weren't overly chirpy either, so there wasn't any pressure to make conversation.

Staring into a distant corner of the hall, Jean's mind wandered away from his headache to an even more painful subject: revision. That stupid class was on that afternoon, and Jean hadn't done a thing towards his history assignment. Urgh...what was the point of it anyway? He'd read, like, two pages of that Joan of Arc book and had practically snored his way through them.

It was useless - he wasn't cut out for studying, or school in general. Only people like that kid, Armin, had a chance at academic success, and looking at Armin, Jean was pretty sure he'd rather flunk school entirely than end up finding, 'Joan of Arc: A History' interesting enough to willingly read it.

The queue shifted by about half a millimetre, and Jean sighed as the bland, white-painted reality around him focused into view. How was it possible for so many irritating people to be gathered in one place at the same time? Even his own friends annoyed him at least a little; the rest of the school population was utterly unbearable. Especially since Marco-

"Oh, Jean! Hey!"

Jean blinked, dazed, before frowning sharply downwards at the figure beside him. Hmm...blonde hair, atrocious style, literally carrying library books under both arms? Jean had only recently acquainted himself with one person to match that description.

Heart resting in the pit of his stomach, Jean was about to reply, when he felt a nudge on his outside arm. "Um, Jean? Are you talking to this nerd or something? The queue's moving."

Glancing up at his group of friends, Jean saw them all waiting, beckoning him over. "Oh, um, no. No way. I'm just coming," he mumbled back, laughing awkwardly.

Making sure not to look behind him, he jogged to catch up with them. Argh, why had that had to happen then? It was hard enough having to go to the revision sessions- getting in with the nerd crowd was the last thing he needed. This ten minute friendship between him and Armin had been a mistake. People like them were not meant to mix, and Jean decided there and then that they would not mix again.

He would not lose his entire school reputation over a guy who liked Joan of Arc books and described Eren Jaeger as 'loyal'. No. Way.

 

♥

 

Jean dragged his feet along the ground, hoping for a giant, man-eating monster to come and eat him in the least painful way possible. Or, you know, something. Anything if it would get him out of these revision classes.

He'd been hoping to go to the first day of school basketball try-outs tonight. Hoping, sure, but with the mental image of his mother stamping on all his video games in her slippers - for his own good - hanging over him, Jean had decided he'd better go to revision instead. Like a nerd.

Maybe he could try and slip out after the first ten minutes. Maybe a meteor would wipe out the revision class right before he got there. Maybe... Maybe... Jean shook his head.

Whatever. He was Jean Kirschstein, his middle name was 'better than this', and he could deal with this stupid revision class for one measly hour. Turning into the classroom, he swung his satchel over his shoulder in a way he hoped looked cool enough to impress the geeky cross-eyed kids in front of him.

Then he stood, awkwardly, his satchel strap twisted into the kanji for 'loser'. Where was he supposed to sit? Half the tables had been pushed to the sides of the classroom, and the only empty seat left was next to a first year. And not just any old first year- this girl had so much drool coming out of her mouth, Jean was surprised the whole bottom part of her face hadn't gone all wrinkly and gross, like when you've been in the swimming pool for too long.

She waved at him blearily. "Hi," said the first year. "I'm Sasha."

Jean ignored her. "Hey," he said, waving at the teacher at the front of the classroom. They had their back to him and were helping another student, but Jean raised his voice to get their attention. "Hey! Where the hell am I supposed to sit? Stop ignoring me! C'mon, what kind of a teacher are you?"

That was when the teacher turned round and Jean realised, with a sinking sense of total dread, that the teacher wasn't a teacher at all. Jean hadn’t recognised the familiar bowl cut because it had been stuffed into a ponytail at the back- but the face that turned around to face Jean was obviously, unmistakably Armin’s.

He twined his fingers together, frowning slightly at Jean. "I'm not the teacher, I'm just helping out. Professor Hanji is… Actually, I don’t know where she is, but… But… Can't you just... Can't you just use that walnut-brain of yours and bring up a new table and chair from the back of the classroom?"

Jean shrugged and twisted away, sure of three things. 1) Armin was definitely mad at him. 2) Jean had no idea why. 3) So much for never seeing the guy again. And, actually, though Jean didn't want to admit it, there was a fourth thing Jean was sure of too.

Armin was angry with him, and Jean had made Armin angry. And stupidly, inexplicably, Jean couldn't help but hate himself because of it.

Sighing, Jean plopped down on the chair beside Sasha, shifting as far away from the younger girl as possible. She raised her eyebrows, leaning back in her chair. There were school books out in front of her, but so far, all she’d written was the date.

The wrong date, Jean noted. Not that he generally took any notice of the date, but in a fortnight exactly it would be the one year anniversary since Marco-

Since Marco-

Ugh. Jean rolled his eyes, stuttering over the thought. Next to him, Sasha had started poking him with a chewed-up pencil. Jean turned on her angrily, and she startled back, her hands held up in defence.

“Woah, woah!” she said, like she hadn’t basically just attacked him with a piece of sharpened graphite. “I don’t want a fight. I just wondered if you were okay. You seem sort of…”

“Sort of what?” Jean snapped testily.

Sasha shrugged. “I don’t know. Kind of angry. Kind of sad.” She reached down to rummage in her school bag, her head disappearing under the desk. “You should have something to eat.” With a flourish, she pulled a slightly crushed melon bread from her bag and started unwrapping it.

Jean shook his head. “I don’t want your food. I don’t know where it’s been.”

Sasha turned to him in bemusement. “Oh, no, this isn’t for you. I just wanted something to eat. I meant you should go get something from the cafeteria before it closes.”

“Oh. Right.” Craning his neck, Jean stared listlessly at the clock. He was trapped here for another forty minutes, at least. Perhaps he could make some kind of excuse to leave, but the mood Armin seemed to be in right now, Jean doubted he’d get away with them.

Wondering what he’d possibly done to make Armin mad at him, Jean’s gaze fell onto the smaller boy. He was leaning over the desk of a slouching older girl, her lip curved upwards sarcastically. She was called Ymir, Jean was pretty sure- she was known for being so goddamn salty that her name was notorious throughout the school. Armin didn’t seem fazed, though.

Jean smiled. Actually, Armin’s hair looked good, tied up like that. There were little wispy strands falling in front of his face still, and it made the tips of his ears poke out like hidden secrets.

Armin coughed politely, whipping Jean out of his dazed state. “Do you need any help or something? It’s just, you’re staring.”

Jean blinked, choking on his words in surprise. “Um… No, actually, I, er-“

“If you need help,” said Armin robotically, “put your hand up and I’ll come round and help you.” He ran his fingers through his hair, and turned back to whatever he was talking about with Ymir.

Jean still watched them – it was hard not to watch Armin, he was discovering – only now, he did it more covertly. Armin’s eyes were far nicer than Jean had ever given them credit for. As a matter of fact, the same went for Armin’s smile. And his nose. And his shoulders. And his forehead. And his ass. If he hadn’t been born such a nerd, Armin was so unassumingly beautiful that he’d probably be the most popular kid in school.

Someday, someone was going to have to tell Armin how gorgeous he was.

It wouldn’t be Jean, obviously. Guys didn’t tell their male, sort-of-friends things like that. But… Someone would need to, at some point. Jean got the feeling that Armin didn’t get complimented very often.

Standing over Jean’s desk, Armin cleared his throat loudly.

Next to him, Sasha’s back straightened like she was standing to attention. Funny, that. Jean had thought she was asleep. Now she leant forwards, scrawling fairly complicated looking equations all over her English book.

Armin leant on Jean’s desk, his hands perched like little birds on his hips. “You said you needed help?”

“No, I said-“ Jean shook his head. “Hey, Armin, are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad,” said Armin, slowly. “Did you need help with your revision?”

Jean ignored Armin’s last comment, ploughing forward. “Yes, you are mad at me. But why, though? I mean, I seriously can’t think of anything I’ve-”

Armin tilted his head to one side, blowing out the air from his cheeks in mild frustration. “Okay, fine, I’m mad at you.”

“Yeah, but why? Look, I’m sorry, man, whatever it is-”

“Man? You sound like you’re talking to a friend.”

Jean frowned. “Didn’t we agree on that yesterday? We’re friends, right? You said that ‘friend’ was a better nickname than ‘Bowl Cut Boy’, remember?”

Friends. Hadn’t Jean decided he wasn’t going to be friends with Armin anymore? And yet now here he was, announcing their brotherhood to the world.

Maybe Armin’s beautiful hair and ass and smile and ears just had that effect on him.

“I’m an A* student, Jean. My talent is remembering things.” Armin flicked his tongue across his teeth reproachfully. “Apparently it isn’t yours, though.”

“What? I have no idea what you’re talking about, you know? No goddamn idea. Come on, Armin- just tell me what’s the matter, okay?”

“The lunch queue. Today.” Suddenly, Armin’s voice seemed tiny.

“Huh?”

“The lunch queue.”

“Oh,” said Jean. “Oh.” And he remembered. Armin coming up to him in the line. Smiling, like Jean just being alive had made his stupid, nerdy day. Jean turning back to his friends, point blank ignoring Armin. Like a jerk. Like a fucking stupid jerk.

Now, Jean sucked in his breath awkwardly. “Well. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Armin. That was- that was really douche-y of me. Maybe the sight of Jaeger yesterday fried some of my brain cells.”

“Don’t be mean about Eren.”

“I’ll be mean however much I like about that son of a-“

Armin laughed. “Also, stupidness isn’t a word. Just so you know.”

“Sorry,” said Jean, as meekly as he could manage.

Armin raised his eyebrows, shrugging his shoulders a little. “Just to check, you don’t actually need any help with your revision, right?”

“Huh?” Jean looked down at his empty desk. He hadn’t even taken his books out his bag yet. “Oh, um, no. No. I’m fine, don’t worry. Fine. I-“ Jean tilted his head back to look up at Armin, only to find he’d moved to the other side of the classroom, already helping someone else out.

“I-” Jean stuttered, than spat his words out. “Armin!”

Armin spun round on his heel, a small smile playing over his lips. “What, Jean?”

“So you forgive me, right? We’re friends?”

“I’d rather you called me friend than bowl-cut boy.”

Jean grinned. “You know what? Me too. Bowl-cut boy is kind of a mouthful.”


End file.
